


Same Man I Was Before

by fractualized



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractualized/pseuds/fractualized
Summary: Variation of the vigilante ending for Episode 4. After the chaos on the bridge, Bruce tries to get a handle on the situation, but John has different ideas about how to handle the virus and their relationship.





	Same Man I Was Before

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's weird to post an Episode 4 thing now, but I started writing this months ago and I worked too hard to let it go based on minor issues like finding out while playing the Episode 5 villain route that one of my theories was absolutely wrong. So here we are!
> 
> Title nicked from Oingo Boingo.

The canister hissed out far more smoke than it should have been able to hold. In moments, the cloud swallowed up John, the virus, the agents, and anything else further than a foot from Bruce's face. Then came the cacophony of scattering feet, warning shouts, unlocking safeties, fritzing walkie-talkies, and Waller's voice:

"Where's Wayne? I want him secured! Subdue him if you have to!"

John's cackle echoed across the bridge, and Bruce heard another cry, another canister unloading. He had the sudden thought that this was his fault, that using the smoke bomb in the alley had been too much, that he'd tried too hard to make an impression on John and instead entertained him like a spectacle-deprived child. What would John be doing if Bruce had left him that batarang?

He coughed on the smoke, uselessly trying to wave it away as he moved toward the laughter. He needed to get to John before the Agency did, not only to keep him out of Waller's hands but to prevent him from resorting to more desperate acts of self-defense. An agent appeared from the right, aiming a punch at Bruce's head. He grabbed her fist and used her momentum to land a solid headbutt, and she went down.

Waller's voice rang clear through the chaos. "Get me Wayne _now!_ "

She sounded more worried about him than John, which made sense. She had to know that Bruce, with all his skills and resources, would turn on her now, that he suspected her handling of the virus and conspired with Avesta. He wondered if she realized that it was her abrupt escalation that sealed his distrust for good. Did she really think he would have let her blow John away? He had doubts about what John claimed happened at the funhouse, but Waller's actions bolstered his story.

Bruce took cover alongside an armored truck. He pulled his collar up over his nose, which didn't make it easier to breathe but eased the urge to cough. Wispy figures stumbled through the cloud around him. None of them were John; their movements had none of his compressed energy, and besides, Bruce could hear another cackle some distance past the truck followed by yet another spray of smoke. John was definitely having too much fun-- though it was far preferable to him releasing the dead man's switch.

Sneaking around the back of the truck, he nearly collided with another man. Bruce instantly weaved around the agent, clasped a hand over his mouth, and locked the opposite arm against his throat, holding fast until he went slack. Bruce let him drop and rushed across a clear section of the bridge. The smoke burned tears from his eyes as he searched for a hint of green or blue.

Footsteps from the left, and he darted away to crouch behind a sedan. He almost tripped over a woman sprawled on the ground, gun laying by her hand. John's work? Bruce checked for a pulse and thankfully found one. He heard only the scattered shouts now, and Harley distantly declaring, "I hope they nail ya right between the eyes, you sonuvabitch!" At least the Agency had secured her; he couldn't imagine how much more of a disaster this would be if she'd gotten loose.

Someone stood close enough to the front of the sedan for him to identify-- the solid, square-shouldered Waller. Gun at the ready, she moved further into the smoke, away from him. "Take this chance to surrender!" she warned. The cloud was too thick to tell if she was approaching anyone or just sending a message to both her quarry. Bruce crept up behind her, until it was clear she was just scouting. His eyes locked on the back of her head, his mind calculating how much force he should use.

She whipped around, instantly getting him in her sights. He froze, and she smirked.

Then a shaped rolled out of the mist just a yard or so to her left. She held her aim and glanced back at it. Bruce would have taken that moment to strike, had he not recognized the mannequin head and the blinking red light in its eye socket.

He started to shout a warning, his collar slipping off his mouth, as she lurched away. A roaring wall of orange and yellow and heat threw him back. Pain burned his skin, shot through his back, slammed into his head. Everything was bright and wild, and when he could think again he only registered his mouth pressed against concrete. He lifted his eyes and saw the bars of the walkway railing, focused past them to the blazing cars and trucks. So much more smoke now, blacker, and it was even harder to breathe, impossible to move, urgings from his brain not connecting with his body but spiraling up with the smoke into the sky.

Finally that laugh again-- _Really knocked their socks off, eh, Bruce?_ \-- and it lifted him up around his chest, his legs dragging, his nerves screaming into the dizzy void. He couldn't get a hold on anything, but John's giggle held him close and pulled him into the dark.

* * *

Quiet. Gray. Not smoke gray. Ghostly, early morning gray through the window. A car window above his head. He laid on the back seat, the driver and passenger seats rising on his left. He tried to sit up, but it felt like the base of his skull was attached to a chain of spikes down his back. He shut his eyes and waited for the pain to dull, concentrated on breathing steadily. The night drifted back to him: the bridge, the virus, John...

The car rocked and Bruce opened his eyes. John loomed over him, a rag in his hand dripping cold water onto Bruce's shoulder. He froze, seeing Bruce awake. Bruce felt just as still. John was here, was all right, looked no worse than he had while they sped to the bridge and he enthused about making things right together.

John grinned broadly. "Good morning, blue eyes!" he chirped, draping the cloth over Bruce's forehead. "I thought this might help. I mean, it does on TV."

The chill did seem to add clarity to Bruce's thoughts. He could smell the salt in the water. "Where are we?" he rasped.

"Other side of town, oceanside, in a little hiding spot," John responded, still hovering.

That didn't tell Bruce much, but if they were outside they were exposed, and it would be easier for the Agency to find them. That thought collided with the reality that John had impulsively raised fiery hell on Gotham Bridge and basically kidnapped him-- but all because he didn't trust the Agency with the virus. And Bruce didn't either.

He let his eyelids fall shut again. He'd barely processed the bloody scene at the funhouse, much less all that had come after. "Can I get some room to breathe?" he muttered.

"Just making sure you're okay."

Bruce's eyes shot open. "You almost blew me up!"

John's eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Yeah, sure, Bats."

Bruce pushed at the other man's chest and slowly sat up. John relented and helped him, wincing at Bruce's strained groans. The rag fell onto Bruce's leg and John dutifully collected it, slapping it back in place when Bruce was upright. Bruce protested as John urged his head back against the seat.

"Take a sec," John scolded. He stood outside the car but hunched down to peer at his friend, resting his arms along the door seam above his head. He suddenly chortled, "You really flew over that railing!"

Bruce grimaced at a sudden jolt in his back. "You don't say." He looked around through the windows and open door. They were parked under a highway along the ocean-- must have been Route 89-- between two of the towering supports closest to the water. Enough sun reached here for grass to grow, but it was dry and brown. Beyond John, the grass gave way to mud as the ground sloped gently to the lapping water. Opposite, standing along the curving road overhead, he could see the backs of crumbling brick warehouses with missing doors and shattered windows. They must be right by the old docks.

Bruce caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. His face was smudged with black, and a downward glance proved his clothes and arms were in the same condition. By some miracle he didn't appear to have any significant burns, and the possibility of a body count on the bridge decreased in his mind-- somewhat. He gestured vaguely at the car. "Why did you... bring me here?"

John returned the befuddled look. "Waller was screaming for your head. Was probably gonna stash you with Harley."

Fair enough. Bruce took the rag and carefully rubbed at the soot on his cheek. There was definitely a bruise underneath. "I could've done without the dramatics."

"That is definitely not true," John giggled.

Bruce felt the corner of his mouth quirk up and quickly suppressed it. "Explosives hurt people, John."

"I knew you could handle it."

"I didn't even have the suit. And what about all those agents?"

John's face suddenly twisted. "Those lying pigs?" he sneered. "Oh, I saw them still rooting around, no worries!" He whirled around, stalking a few paces, fingers curling like he was ready to throttle. With some discomfort, Bruce leaned forward to not lose sight of him. "I helped them, and their first reaction to... to a bump in the road..." John turned back. "She tried to shoot me! Like a dog!" Then his anger suddenly collapsed, his face open with awe and his arms slack. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."

Bruce slid carefully on the seat until he could plant his feet on the ground, so he could look at John straight on. "You've saved my ass a few times," he said with a weary smile, leaning against the door frame. The cloth wasn't accomplishing much, so he discarded it behind him.

"Yeah, sure, but..." John shrugged the dubious thought off, moved on to a contemplative one. "This is how a relationship is," he said, seemingly to himself. "Give and take, between both people." He scowled. "I don't think Waller knows much about that."

"There are better ways of dealing with her," Bruce said, "and you can't assume all the agents understand what's going on. Lots of them could be persuaded against Waller with the right information." He thought about how he hadn't seen Avesta after the chaos started. Hopefully she was okay. She shouldn't have to adapt to the loss of any more senses. "Avesta vouched for you, and she helped me behind Waller's back."

John snorted. "You really collude around."

"I always keep an eye out for allies," Bruce rephrased.

"Well, you got one in me!" John exclaimed, throwing his shoulders back and pointing at his chest with his thumb. "Ready to assist!"

"Assist?"

"Yeah, we're cleaning up this city together, remember?"

Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah." He remembered, but he'd said that when they were going to confront Harley and hadn't thought any further. John had been part of a criminal enterprise to begin with, and at this point he'd both attacked and killed members of the powerful organization that pursued them. Bruce had the clout to come out of this whole mess fine enough, but John's history made his situation dicier, even considering self defense. Speaking of which... "We still need to have that talk. But before that, where's the virus?"

John's grin faltered. "It's safe. Why?"

"I'll find a way to get rid of it."

"Somebody's got control issues," John muttered, folding his arms.

"And how were you planning to handle it?"

John rapped his fingers against his bicep and averted his eyes. "Somehow."

Bruce hesitated. "Were you going to use it, like Harley and the others? You remember what I said, about how even if we had the blood--"

"I was just helping Harley," John said impatiently. "Who wants stupid Riddler's dumb blood in them?"

"Okay. Then hand over the vial."

"Why are you the only one who can take charge?" John challenged.

"The virus is dangerous," Bruce shot back. "We need to get rid of it immediately." It occurred to him that the Batcomputer could be working on a safe disposal method as they spoke. Then it occurred to him that during the hours he'd been out, the Agency had likely swarmed the manor. He reached for his phone to check for messages from Alfred, but his pocket was empty.

"I really want to be partners with you, but you are building a barrier with your condescension."

"I'm not going to argue about this." Bruce forced himself to his feet. If he moved slowly, the twinges down his back felt manageable. He turned to the car. Except for the rag, the back was empty. "Do you know where my phone is?"

"If you're not responsible enough to hold onto your phone," John sing-songed, "why should you be responsible for the virus?"

It must have been lost on the bridge. Bruce took a step back and got his first real look at the car. To put it plainly, it was beat to shit, and not just from the explosions; it had signs of collision on all sides. He almost hoped the virus wasn't stashed in somewhere in there; the rolling vial could have easily shattered during... whatever maneuvers John had improvised to make their escape. "Do you have the virus here, or did you stop somewhere?"

He heard John walk up behind him. "You're really single-minded, you know that?"

Bruce turned with a withering look. "It's a biological threat."

"So are you," John said with a winning smile, "and I'm not handing you over to anyone."

A laugh burst from Bruce's chest, but it was cut off by an aching stab and a groan.

John shook his head and looked Bruce up and down. "Key difference between you and Harley: you're always thinking about other people, even when you're hurt. She's focused on what she wants." He chuckled and pointed to his black eye. "Like, really focused."

"I don't see how that's funny."

"Another difference." John shrugged. "She has her flaws, but Harley wasn't bad for a role model, demonstrating how to navigate the chaos on the outside. Plus she has a great sense of humor! But she wanted to mold me, like a sculptor, you know? You want me to find my own way."

"Of course. You're not doing much living if you don't make your own choices."

John nodded eagerly. "Exactly! I finally feel ready to put myself out there!" He spread his arms and kicked back one leg to spin around on the other-- and lost his balance, stumbling.

Bruce caught him by the shoulders, ignoring the resulting ache. "Whoa, buddy," he chuckled, "don't overdo it."

"That's all I want to do!" John said, his eyes bright with adulation. It was not the first time Bruce had seen that look, and he self-consciously averted his eyes as always. He realized he still held John's arms and let go, took a half-step back. Enough distance, enough pause, to get a handle back on the conversation and turn it back to the virus.

But John took a full step closer, cocking his head to catch Bruce's eye again, so close that his breath warmed Bruce's cheek. Another backward step put Bruce's back against the car, and John only followed, cupping his face with cool hands. Bruce had the urge to say something-- protest?-- but the sounds were trapped fluttering in his stomach.

"Last night was very exciting," John said, his voice falling into that predatory range. "Very clarifying."

Of course when Bruce felt bewildered, John was at ease-- here he was, tracing Bruce's jawline with his thumbs, while Bruce's arms hovered awkwardly at waist level. He should extricate himself right now. John was too unpredictable to let this go any further, not to mention he'd still been mooning over Harley just yesterday. But Bruce stayed put, maybe because, as always, he was much too curious about what John would do. Like he was too willing to set aside John's appreciation for violence, too accepting of his enthusiasm for Batman's vigilantism, too indulgent in his admiration for Bruce.

"Little quiet here," John said, shifting forward to press their bodies together and balance his forearms on Bruce's shoulders. Somehow Bruce was sure John's hands were entwined loosely behind his head, as if making the point that it would be easy to break away. Suddenly apprehensive, John added, "I hope it's not that, uh, the cat's got your tongue?"

His tone indicated there was a joke in there, but Bruce's brain felt too crowded to parse it and mustered only a blank stare. John tipped his head back in a thrilled laugh, and-- as _Selina_ finally dawned on Bruce-- he locked his arms around Bruce's neck and kissed him. Bruce was overwhelmed immediately; John was too eager, his tongue diving into Bruce's mouth and his clutching hold driving a lance down Bruce's back. Bruce let out strangled cry.

John pulled back. "Whoops, sorry," he chuckled nervously, wrapping his arms around Bruce's waist instead.

What Bruce should have said was "I think we should stop." Instead he found himself murmuring, "Just calm down," as he looped his left arm around John's waist and pressed his right hand to John's cheek. Enclosing the other man seemed to soothe his energy; he waited now and made just a soft noise as Bruce leaned in. John's lips were both warmer and softer than his hands and had to be coaxed open again, but soon John matched Bruce's pace, curling his fingers into Bruce's ruined shirt. His mouth tasted like fruity gum, the sweetness a contrast to the acrid smoke that lingered in his hair and clothes, the only way the havoc on the bridge had marked him. Somehow John's will and stamina pulled him through his misadventures relatively unscathed, much like the nights when Batman seemed to survive on pure luck. Maybe letting John join the cause of protecting Goham wasn't so implausible after all. He already had the skills to escape the Agency and was eager to learn more. Bruce could train him, take some burden off Alfred's shoulders. Somehow he could prevent John's mistakes from sending him back to incarceration. If he had to hide John in the cave...

Bruce broke the kiss, panting slightly. Keep John in the cave? Oh, sure, he'd love a danker version of Arkham. Bruce needed to get a hold of himself, once his pulse stopped pounding in his ears.

John lifted a hand to tingle Bruce's scalp with his fingernails. "Honestly, I wasn't sure you'd take this leap," he said.

Bruce didn't have a clear explanation even for himself. "Well... all that rooftop running."

John laughed again, his wildly green eyes open wide with delight. Bruce felt the lurching terror of falling into that gaze, the chasm of knowingness, acceptance. John's adoration was too out of proportion to the reality that Bruce was still only human, regardless of the enormity of his choice to become the Batman. Yet that and all of Bruce's other misgivings were obscured by the promise of the fall: having someone at his side on the endless nights, sharing his darker impulses without judgment, helping John find the best version of himself.

John leaned in, touching his forehead to Bruce's. "You and me, we can hunt them down together," he whispered, eyes thrumming like neon lights. "It'll be so much fun!"

Bruce pulled back. "Hunt?"

"Not all the agents will see our side, Bruce," John said patiently. "Let's face it. A lot of them are mindlessly pursuing a deadly virus. We're going to end up taking most of them out."

The unease in Bruce's stomach veered from anticipation to sickness. He slid out from between John and the car. "What are you talking about?" he said, leaning against the trunk.

John looked unhappy, but plainly not because of what was coming out of his own mouth. "Oh, man, I knew this wouldn't go well."

"You're talking about killing people! How did you think it was going to go?!" John reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but Bruce stepped back. The whiplash of the situation finally hit him and he slammed his fist on the car. "Goddammit, John!"

"Oh, you're mad at me?" John growled. "These people are tools in a giant extra-governmental operation that wants to snatch the virus for who knows what. To keep them from using it, we have to get rid of them, not leave a bunch of them running around because of your precious rule. Don't you get that?"

So much for feeling understood. "My 'precious' rule is not just to make myself feel good. Do you understand the consequence of permanently ending a life? Just deciding that you arbitrarily have the right to snuff out any possibility a person can redeem themselves?"

"Against the realer possibility they'll just keep hurting others? Not really convincing me here, Bruce."

"So you're telling me that if you could go back, you would just kill Harley?"

John's breath caught, and Bruce thought he'd gotten through, but then came the regretful reply. "If talking to her hadn't gone as well as it did, I dunno. It'd be her or everyone else. Like you said, there aren't easy answers."

Bruce grabbed him by the shoulders again, hard this time, but resisted the urge to shake him. "When you know you'll end up hurting someone, John, not killing them!"

"Yeah, okay. I'll worry about offing Harley while she's not worried about wiping out everyone in Gotham."

"You need to care about that _because_ she doesn't," Bruce said. "That's the point. How can you fault her for not valuing life if you don't demonstrate the opposite? And how can she be held accountable for what she's done if she's dead?"

"Yeah, and then she'll see the light!" John raised his hands to the sky, breaking Bruce's hold. "Hallelujah!"

"This isn't a joke to me, John," Bruce said through gritted teeth.

"Then be more serious. More honest." John's aura sharpened, his voice prodding, eyes glinting. "If your dad hadn't been murdered, wouldn't more people have suffered?"

Bruce's face went numb as heat poured into his chest. "How can you say that to me?"

"How can you not answer it?" John retorted. "Come on, Bruce. Would it be honky-dory with you if even more people were locked up in Arkham? Did you think it was a grand ol' time? Or do you think it would've been be nice for me and the roaches to have more company? A bunch of sacrifices to the maybe of dear old dad changing his stripes. Be patient, folks, and have a round of electroshock to help pass the time!"

"Stop it." Bruce's hands shook. "That-that is a false choice. My father could have been brought to justice."

"Except he wasn't. Not with the city in his pocket."

Bruce struggled to articulate a counter response. He was still thrown by the turn of the conversation, and at the moment all the explanations that came to mind seemed disingenuous even to himself. Obviously he was invested in the idea that his father, his mother, could still be alive today. How could he convince John that it was more than that? He suddenly felt exhausted and turned toward the chill coming off the water. "John, look... the kind of person who can just kill someone, I've seen it up close... I don't want you to become that."

A long silence. When Bruce turned back, John was staring at him and slowly shaking his head. Then he started giggling. "Oh, Bruce, it's ridiculous how naive you can be! Of all people!"

Dread came down like rain. "You told me that was self defense."

John turned solemn. "Oh, yeah, the agents? That definitely was," he said, holding up his right hand as if pledging to the truth. Then his mouth cracked into a smirk. "But come on. Riddler?"

"But you said..." Bruce stopped. He sounded childish to his own ears. The facts flooded back. John had called Riddler his enemy, cackled at his death. Riddler had told only John where he would be that night on the boat, had counted on him to get the rest of the Pact there. John was unaccounted for during the heists in the city; no one of his description had been reported present with Harley, Bane, or Freeze. The syringe in Riddler's neck had a concoction of drugs that Harley would have had access to as a psychiatrist, and therefore so would John.

Bruce had known all this early on, but he'd been in the midst of an investigation. There was more information to uncover, other actors and motivations. Riddler had made plenty of enemies in his life. But Bruce knew that deep down he didn't _want_ it to be John.

Of all things, John suddenly looked sheepish. "In my defense, we pinky-sweared to tell the truth _after_ I lied about that." When he received no response, he started to ramble. "I mean, it wasn't my best decision, especially since we needed him to get access to the lab, but he got so obsessed with proving he was better than you that he pushed the Pact aside, and he was going to ruin everything anyway, Harley was sure of it. So I just... I decided to try my hand at taking care of it. And it was easy, you know, considering he'd been way less than a standup guy for like decades, what with all the crime and torture and murder.

"But I mean, I do kind of get your problem, because it was easy. I watched him just fall over, and it was done. He was just gone. It was scary and thrilling at the same time, knowing that it was _me_ , that _I_ just snuffed him out. I mean, how crazy is that, that I just pulled a trigger and--" John lifted his closed hands, then popped his fingers as if releasing smoke-- "poof, no more Eddie! You see it all the time in movies and shows, but in real life, it shouldn't be that simple, right? It made me feel so sick I didn't even want to tell Harley, even though she was waiting for me to kill someone, had a little embroidered Murder badge ready, and she would've known I felt weird about it. But it was Riddler so by the time I felt better, I couldn't tell her because she was furious we had to steal his body.

"But I knew him, what a rude, arrogant cretin he was." By now John had little expression. He stared into middle distance. "I didn't know the agents at all. Though they didn't know me either, and it didn't stop them from surging in, guns blazing, but I still didn't... I didn't know why. I wanted to ask, negotiate a surrender, I guess, but they didn't seem interested, and I got caught up dodging bullets. Then I just... I didn't snap. I clicked. That vicious thing was just what I needed to make them stop, and when it was over, they were just more mannequins lying around." John blinked, shook his head. "But they weren't. They were people who were gone forever, and it didn't need to happen that way... but they need to take some responsibility for that."

He locked eyes with Bruce. "And if that's what I did to strangers, why did Riddler deserve better?"

Bruce actually wanted to laugh, thinking of his idiotic idle fantasy of keeping John around the cave, like a pet instead of a person who had needs that were clearly beyond what he could provide. "Because self-defense is different, John," he said, voice strained. "It's not the same as premediated murder. This whole time... I thought I could save you from that."

"Save me?" John said, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "You watched me attack Zsasz in the rec room just to help you out. I mean, yeah, I see now that was a tad over the top, but why are you still underestimating me?"

Bruce pushed back against the hysteria creeping up his throat. "It's underestimating to not want to believe you killed someone?"

"I'm sorry I didn't wait for him to go after me so you could give your blessing." John's expression darkened. "I did everyone a favor."

A weak laugh escaped. "You're wrong."

"Come on, Bruce, I'm trying to tell you the truth!" John gesticulated aimlessly, frustrated. "The only way to deal with the chaos is on its own terms, not by trying to force it into your neat little box of rules. That's how we'll help people."

"No, John. _We_ won't."

John jerked back as if Bruce had struck him, and his grimace was so pained it looked like he might cry. But after a moment, he let out a breath and straightened up with his mouth in a determined line. "Okay," he said. "Okay, the balance is still off. In time, I can fix it. I can show you." He turned, murmuring, and it took a second for Bruce to realize he was leaving.

Bruce grabbed his arm. "I can't let you go."

John stopped, looking down with amusement at Bruce's grasp. "Oh, darling," he said, turning back. "I think you missed the memo." He leaned in close, and for a moment Bruce thought John would kiss him again. "Nobody gets to tell me what's for the best anymore."

He grabbed Bruce's collar, yanking it down, and Bruce's back convulsed in agony. With a violent whip of his arm, John brought his elbow down on Bruce's spine. Bruce hit the ground, writhing on the dry grass.

Above him, John sympathetically sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Sorry, Brucie, but I really do gotta go. I've got a virus and an evil Agency to deal with. You know how it is." Bruce managed to lift his head. He watched John reach into his vest, pull out a phone in a black case, and toss it onto the grass. "Sorry, I wanted a little us time. You've got a _lot_ of texts."

Again he walked away toward the warehouses, and Bruce tried to snatch his ankle. He missed. "Don't..." he wheezed.

John turned, ambling backwards now, tapping his chin. "Guess I gotta get rid of my phone or you'll trace it. Damn."

"You can't..."

John flashed a genuine smile, and he did pause, to blow a kiss. "We'll see each other again soon," he promised. "Give more thought to what I've said, 'kay?" And with that, he turned tail and ran.

By the time Bruce managed to sit up, leaning against the car, John was long gone. For long minutes he just felt the crackling fire in his back, stared at the ebbing black water, and listened to the zipping cars overhead. The blue notification light on his phone blinked steadily. He finally picked it up and unlocked the screen.

He didn't know how John got in, but the background had changed. There was Bruce lying unconscious in the car, framed by the open door, and John's face was positioned beside him. He winked his left eye and captured his right eye between the V of his index and middle fingers.

A sinking sense of loss snagged Bruce by the ribs and urged him down, but he would not give into it. Instead, he would be the one to fix this, to show John that he believed in the possibility of redemption more than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're scoffing at my detective skills, yeah, I am also disappointed in me.
> 
> Anyway, that all came about when the smoke filled the bridge at the end of Ep 4, and I honestly expected John to kidnap Bruce. So I wrote it out, and then I made it sad!


End file.
